


A Touch of Sweet Darkness

by mercscilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Megstiel Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercscilla/pseuds/mercscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After every encounter with Castiel, Meg has an encounter of another kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch of Sweet Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2nd [Megstiel Week](http://megstielweek.tumblr.com/) and [Szajn-Sama](http://szajn-sama.tumblr.com/)'s prompt 'Meg's favorite food' on tumblr AND for [spn_30snapshots](http://spn-30snapshots.livejournal.com/) and the prompt 'time' at LiveJournal. (I've discovered Cas/Meg only three weeks ago and had to learn everything about them and SPN in fast motion, so I apologize if the characters seem a bit off-ish. -_-

_post-5x10 'Abandon All Hope'_

Meg stumbles out of the warehouse, breathing heavily as the burned skin of her meat suit slowly and painfully starts to mend itself. Injuries caused by burning holy oil take their damn time to heal.

That little cloud hopper and his holier-than-thou attitude. She almost had him, just an inch and his shiny halo would no longer have sat straight. Her mouth twists into a vicious smirk and she moans hungrily, thinking about the delicious pleasure it would have brought her to see him fall. The stinging in her side reminds her who exactly fell from grace down there in that basement and the smile turns grim. Who knew that 'Clarence' could be such a bastard?

Outside Carthage, she steals the first car she finds and starts driving. In her present state she can't transport herself out of the town and while she loathes to do anything the human way, this has to do for now. At least the previous owner had enough common sense to hide a stash of liquor behind the seats. Bless the Devil, she mocks the cloudless sky, and takes another swig.

The highway goes on for miles, nothing but the sun beating down on her and the wind whipping through her hair. Meg begins to understand why people like to take those road trips, leaving all their troubles behind and enjoying this fake impression of freedom. Too bad she can't say the same about herself. Sooner or later she's going to have to answer to her father and at the thought of seeing the disappointment in Lucifer's face, humiliation flares hot inside her.

Her eyes turn black and the empty bottles in the passenger seat explode with such force that the shards pierce the upholstery. She wants to crush him, to see the angel on his knees, to make him bleed and burn and beg like she did. Suddenly, imagining death and carnage isn't enough anymore, she needs to taste it, feel it for real, and when Meg sees the diner ahead of her, she knows, she has found the perfect outlet.

The car almost crashes in one of the trucks in the parking lot - a beautiful beginning for sure - but she has already bled enough for today. Now it's time that others do. Her walk isn't as steady as she would like, the wound is still raw, despite the time she spent on the road, tendrils of agony curling around her with every step she takes (and the alcohol certainly didn't help either), but right now she gives a fuck about appearance.

Inside the diner there's only a handful of customers, not nearly enough to satisfy her thirst for blood but Meg has learned to make do with what she's given. She slips into a booth at the far end of the room and looses herself in scenario after scenario spinning around in her mind (maybe blowing up the stove? Or would electrocution be more fitting?), let them drown out the throbbing pain and the face of her greatest failure.

A hand, holding a plate with a slice of cake, appears in her line of sight, disrupting her daydream of slaughter, and she jerks her head around, eyes ablaze with promises of never-ending suffering.

“You look like you could use it, hon.” An older waitress, completely unaffected by Meg's death glare, gives her a sad smile, paired with a knowing look, and sets down the plate before moving back to the bar.

Meg stares after the woman with narrowed eyes, her fingers twitching, ready to clench and deliver the waitress' guts a good and deadly squeeze, when she is suddenly surrounded by the scent of rich, dark chocolate, with a hint of heavenly sin, so similar to the scent she tasted on the tip of her tongue just a few hours ago.

 _Him_.

The humans and the planned blood bath are forgotten as her memories come crashing back ( _his arms gripping her tightly, pressing every inch of their bodies together_ \- _his face so close to hers she can see the holy flames reflected in his blue eyes_ \- _his scent wrapping around her as he leans down further_ \- _his warm breath ghosting over her lips as they teeter on the edge of something forbidden_ ) and with a curse, Meg shoves the plate away, watches with satisfaction as it skitters across the table, the violent motion causing the cake to break apart.

It was the wrong thing to do. The scent intensifies, grows stronger with every passing second, and suddenly, she feels sick, not just her meat suit but her true self, it's clawing at her from the inside and she can't get out of the diner fast enough.

As Meg drives off, she observes in the rear-view mirror the other cars and truck in the lot going up in flames, the beauty of destruction soothing her inner turmoil a little bit. She disregards the fact that she let the humans in the diner live.

o..o..o

_post-6x10 'Caged Heat'_

Sitting in the booth, Meg eyes the slice of cake with a look of resigned annoyance. She can't even find the strength to harm the waitress who had placed the plate in front of her without a comment the second Meg had taken a seat. It's not like she had consciously transported herself to the diner, she'd been zapping all over the place to throw the Winchesters off her trail when all of the sudden she'd found herself here again.

It's all Castiel's fault, she thinks, his and the not-so-little stunt he pulled that left her with an intense feeling of cleanness pulsing just underneath her meat suit's skin.

When she kissed him it was nothing more than a distraction to gain access to his blade. It wasn't even a proper kiss, just lips pressed against lips. Feathers was too stunned to react, caught off guard just as she planned, and his confusion afterwards was amusing and adorable to observe. What she didn't expect was him literally turning the tables on her, kissing her with a raw passion that consumed her and still makes her feel as if he's branded her.

On cue, the aroma of the freshly backed cake teases her, reminding her of _him_ , and Meg is tempted to reduce the slice to ash and put an end to this ridiculous spectacle. She raises her hand and the move causes Castiel's blade, still tucked away inside her jacket, to press up against her side, its weight oddly encouraging, and instead of letting the cake go up in flames, she takes the fork and cuts a piece.

The cake tastes bittersweet, but not overly so, with a deep flavor and an underlying spicy note that's unexpected. It may not be the real deal but it's a damn good substitute and her eyes slide shut, a mischievous smile playing on her lips, as she imagines Castiel's expression if he knew she was comparing him to a dessert.

A rustling across from her alerts her to the presence of a certain someone and her smile turns downright sinful. Looks like she might get her chance after all. Meg opens her eyes and there he is, in all his trench coat glory and ruffled feathers.

“Hello, _Clarence_ ,” she purrs, one eyebrow raising. “Couldn't stay away, could you?” Castiel's face stays blank but for a moment, fire glows in the depth of his eyes and it sends a dark thrill through her. A pissed-off Castiel is just as delicious as a turned-on one.

“You have something that belongs to me,” he tells her in that raspy voice of his. “I want it back.”

“Do you now, Feathers?” Meg leans forward, tilts her head to the side and pushes the plate towards him, her finger tracing the rim of the plate. “You know, this cake tastes like you. Forbidden plea-”

“I'm not here to play your games, _demon_.” In a flash, his hand closes around her wrist with almost painful force, pulling her up and half-way over the table until their faces are only mere inches apart, his blue eyes boring into her amber ones, his breath warm against her face. An otherworldly tension rises around them, an invisible struggle for power, and Meg licks her lips in anticipation. His eyes drop down to follow the movement and suddenly, a different kind of heat flares between them.

It's like they're back in the hallway in Crowley's prison ( _his fingers tangled in her hair as he pins her against the wall with the full length of his body_ \- _her hand tightly gripping the back of his head as she arches into him_ \- _a fleeting touch of tongues bringing them to their senses, leaving them breathless and flushed_ ) and her mouth parts as he slowly raises his other hand to her face, his fingertips brushing her cheek. 

She's sure he's going to kiss her again but then his gaze abruptly turns cold, his hand falling away from her face, and Castiel shoves her back. He's gone in the blink of an eye and his blade with him. Sneaky son of a bitch, Meg muses as she sinks against the back of the booth, staring at the place he just vacated. If she didn't know it better, she would think her boy's falling from grace.

Humming to herself, Meg carefully cuts another piece of the cake.

o..o..o

_post-7x02 'Hello, Cruel World'_

Lightening flashes, followed by thunder and the rain picks up, beating against the windows, but Meg pays no mind to the storm raging outside. There's a storm of another kind brewing inside the closed diner.

She takes another swig from the bottle of whiskey, welcoming the burning sensation, and watches with dark eyes as a flash lights up the room, bouncing off of the angel blade lying next to the cake.

 _His_ blade.

When it became clear that Crowley hadn't been dead but very much alive and playing King of Hell, she had left the country and went into hiding down in Mexico. Soon after rumors had hit the streets, telling of an angel declaring himself the new God, and Meg had instinctively know who it'd been.

For the first time in her existence, she had felt true fear. Crowley she could have handled somehow, but Castiel? He was a force to be reckoned with, one move of his fingers and she would've been nothing more than a footnote in history.

Furiously, she digs her fingers into the cake and breaks off uneven pieces, not caring about the mess she makes. Her laugh sounds hollow as she turns over the word in her mind. Mess. Everything's a mess, the whole fucking world is a mess.

She had waited for her end, holed up in that no-name-town in Mexico, waited for Crowley, Castiel or both to appear because if it'd been true that Castiel had even forsaken the Winchesters, he would've shown no mercy to her either or stop Crowley from taking her, of that she'd been sure. But no one had come for her and she'd been going insane with the possible reasons for that.

Then, this morning, as she was stepping out of the bathroom, his blade had shimmered into existence on the nightstand, shining bright in the sunlight streaming through the half-closed shutters. The blade had been ice-cold to her touch, not warm like it'd been back when she'd taken it from him in the prison, and there had been only one explanation for it.

Castiel was gone. _Dead_.

Meg doesn't remember how long she'd stood there and stared at the blade, her fingers gripping it tightly, but a commotion outside had finally snapped her out of her trance and within seconds she'd transported herself here, to the diner, and landed in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm.

How very _pathetic_ , she thinks angrily, mourning a dead angel she hardly knew but feels something for even though she shouldn't, and drowning her sorrow in alcohol and cake because it's the closest thing to him she's ever going to get again. Her eyes turn black as she drops the crumbled cake and the bottle to the floor before getting to her feet.

She vanishes with the next clap of thunder, leaving nothing behind but empty bottles and a destroyed cake.

o..o..o

_post-7x21 'Reading Is Fundamental'_

A weary sigh escapes her as Meg halfheartedly nudges the slice of cake with the fork. It's just not the same. At first it seemed similar but this Italian version of the cake is heavier and sweeter in taste than the one from the diner. She can't help but compare it to Castiel and his current situation. He's not his true self either, more like a fruity shadow.

Who else would've had the idea she should lay low in Rome of all places? Though, when Castiel had brought her to the city after their encounter with the Garrison and told her with a lopsided smile, here it would be easier for the bees to sense it if she were in danger, she had reluctantly agreed, rolling her eyes at his nutty metaphor. He may be an oddball and refusing to fight but at least he's trying to protect her, in his own weird kind of way. He does owe her after all.

A decidedly smug smile tugs at her lips as she remembers the brothers' expressions when they found their fallen angel practically clinging to her, their former-enemy-now-turned-ally. Then again, what did they expect? She'd taken care of Castiel when he'd lain in that hospital bed, and then, once he'd woken up, she'd indulged him and his rather eccentric behavior (she'd allowed the light bulbs but had drawn the line at his sappy poetry. No. Fucking. Way.), making sure he wasn't going to go poof all of the sudden. But that was nothing in comparison to what had come afterwards. She had killed for him, angel and demons alike.

Meg isn't naive, she didn't have a change of heart, she's still a demon first and foremost, always thinking about her survival, and keeping Castiel alive and 'happy' is the key to hers. And yet, she can't shake off this nagging feeling that tells her there's more going on and reminds her of those few moments between them ( _”All of that thorny pain. So beautiful.”_ \- _”Meg, are you hurt?”_ \- _the look in his eyes, dark and pained, as he stares up at her after she's killed Hester_ ) that seem to blur a certain line.

Thinking about it gives her a headache and she breaks off a small piece of cake, screwing up her face at the terrible candy sweet flavor. Definitely not the real thing. The unbidden thought, if the new Castiel tastes different too, enters her mind but she has no time to consider it.

“Is that cake?”

“Oh, for the love of...” The fork clatters to the table and she gives the angel in the chair across from her a dirty look. “What are you doing here?”

Castiel reaches out to poke the slice and fascination lights up his face as it wobbles. “Do you not like it?” He inquires, cocking his head at her in contemplation.

She ignores his question, knowing he isn't here for fun times. “What's wrong, Feathers?”

But Castiel doesn't answer, instead he starts rummaging through the various pockets of his trench coat until he finally pulls out a plastic bag. “Here. Maybe, if you use some of this, it will taste better?” Pushing the bag towards her, he looks up, his expression hopeful. “It's honey. I collected it myself.”

“That is...nice.” Meg firmly grasps his hand, ignoring the sudden spark of heat the contact generates, and concentrates on grounding Castiel to get her answer. “But that's not why you're here, is it?” 

His eyes cloud over and she feels cold fear taking root. “The flowers were quiet, so I went to look but no one was there anymore. Then the bees told me, you were in danger as well.”

Nothing he says make sense and frustration wells up inside her. “What happened, _Castiel_?”

The sudden change in him is astonishing, as if his name from her lips broke through the layers of craziness, and for one moment he's almost like his old self. “They're dead,” he says calmly, slipping his hand from hers to wrap his fingers tightly around her wrist. “We have to go.”

Meg's 'Who?' is lost as he zaps them half-way across the world.

o..o..o

_AU!Beginning of Season 8_

Despite the fires of hell surrounding her, she's freezing, and Meg presses herself closer to the ground to absorb what little warmth it offers. Excruciating pain washes over her, the smell of burned and rotten flesh twisting her stomach, and she gags. Her meat suit is bloody and bruised, ripped open and broken in so many places she has lost count, and her true form isn't faring better.

Another shiver wracks her naked body, tearing a low moan from her ravaged mouth as every nerve-ending screams in agony. Crowley knows what he's doing, he's certainly kept his promise. Time has lost all meaning, there's no end, just wave after wave of never-ending suffering but she's still fighting and she won't give up until she's truly dead.

Footsteps, slowly closing in on her position, announce her next torture date with Crowley and her scarred lips twist into a grotesque image of a smile. “You won't break me,” Meg rasps, her voice raw and hoarse, as she forces her swollen eyes open. “You will have to kill me first.”

“I am not here to kill you, Meg.”

She glares up at the vision in front her, so beautiful and yet so _false_ , another one of Crowley's cruel attempts to break her, but she won't be fooled, she knows better. “You're a sick bastard, Crowley,” she hisses, spitting blood at his feet. “You told me yourself _he_ is stuck in Purgatory.”

He removes his trench coat and kneels down beside her, carefully placing it over her battered form. She shies away from his touch, claws at the stone underneath her with torn fingers but she's too exhausted and she bites back a cry as she sinks to the ground. The coat is warm, his body heat still clinging to it, fending off the numbness spreading through her, and she wants nothing more than to loose herself in the warmth. But it's all a lie. “You're not him,“ she states in a flat tone, too weak to even flinch as he reaches for her again.

With gentle fingers, he brushes her tangled hair away from her sweat-soaked face and her arching body betrays her, leans into his caress, not caring that he's not the real angel.

“You compared me to a cake once,” he tells her quietly and at his words something sparks inside her, rises and flares bright, pushing through the haze of pain. She might have told Crowley everything else but not _that_.

His coat slips from her shoulders as she struggles to sit up, laughter spilling from her lips, the look in her eyes fierce and bordering on feral. Meg lays her fingertips against his cheek, marks his skin with blood and sulfur, and feels the muscle of his face shift into a ghost of a smile. “That's my boy.”

Hellhounds howl in the distance, a sure sign his intrusion has been detected, and Castiel pulls his coat back around her before he picks her up, holding her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. His wings unfold behind them, a large and terrifying shadow against the walls, but Meg's not afraid, she feels secure, after who-knows-how-long she's finally safe and can let her body rest.

Just before she drifts off into a welcoming darkness, something soft and warm touches her temple, and her lips curve into a tired smile against his throat. “You're a real cupcake, Feathers,” she murmurs and is pretty sure, his answering chuckle isn't only in her imagination.

o..o..o

_Season 8-ish_

Half-listening to the song playing on the diner's radio, Meg turns the page of the magazine. Most of those people are demons, she bets, though, no demon would be caught dead in _that_ dress. Definitely an angel that one. She breaks off another piece of the cake and as the slightly bitter but rich taste of dark chocolate fills her senses, she puts down the magazine and leans back, her eyes drifting shut. It may sound crazy but she truly missed this cake.

A light breeze brushes against her cheek and she tilts her head to look through half-lidded eyes at the source of it, taking in his somewhat disheveled appearance with a bemused smile. “How was the boys' and your date with those snakes on a bus?”

“The color of their scales clashed horrible with the interior of the vehicle,” Castiel retorts utterly deadpan.

Meg blinks in surprise at his words before sitting up straight and giving him her full attention, raising one eyebrow questioningly. He keeps his expression neutral but it doesn't take her long to spy the teasing glint in his blue eyes that belies his blank face and she tries unsuccessfully to suppress her laughter. “Well, look at you. There's still hope for you after all, Clarence.”

Castiel is clearly not amused to hear that nickname, shooting her a look full of exasperation. Pushing his buttons until his impassive mask cracks is a guilty pleasure of hers, a habit she finds hard to break, especially if he presents such a delicious picture of ruffled feathers when he's irritated with her. 

Sending a smug grin in his direction, Meg picks up the last peice of cake, her gaze never leaving his as she hums in appreciation at the taste of victory, the tip of her tongue running over her lips to catch the last traces of chocolate. She anticipates another disapproving look, maybe even a few blown-out lights and cracks in the windows if she gets far enough under his skin to rouse his true form, but she definitely doesn't see coming what Castiel does next.

There's a flash in his blue eyes, a surge of angelic power, and without warning, he vanishes, only to reappear next to the bench she's sitting on, his hand firm as he hauls her up by her arm and backs her up against the wall of the diner, slowly brushing his thumb along her jaw as his palm goes to cup the back of her neck, his other hand bracing on the bricks next to her head, effectively caging her in.

Angel boy is finally trying to beat her at her own game, Meg realizes with an unholy feeling of glee, something he hasn't tried since that night in Crowley's prison, and her smirk is pure sin as her hands rise to grip the lapels of his coat but Castiel's faster, the fingers tangled in her hair tightening their hold, forcing her head back until she hisses at the stinging sensation and clutches at his shoulders to keep her balance.

His eyes are ablaze with power as he leans in, invading what little personal space she has left, his warm breath and the scent of bittersweet darkness tempting her, and her body arches into his of its own volition, her mouth grazing his as she does, and she can't stop the quiet moan slipping past her parted lips.

“Such a beautiful, thorny pain,” he murmurs against her mouth huskily, and then he's kissing her with a barely controlled passion that calls to her own power flowing just beneath the heated surface of her meat suit's skin. She shivers as his tongue slips into her mouth, the lingering aftertaste of dark chocolate mingling with his unique flavor, and her hand slides to his nape, fingers digging into his skin, and with a low growl he deepens the kiss, one of his hands gripping her hip to pull her tightly against him.

A clattering noise from the bar breaks them apart and Meg tears her mouth away with a gasp, experiencing that foreign feeling of pureness again, her meat suit's heart beating hard, fast, and for a moment she just stares at him. Castiel returns her look in silence and his gaze is like a caress all over again. When they drop to her mouth, Meg feels his fingers flexing and a sly grin spreads across her face as she lets go of him to touch her bruised lips with her fingertips. It seems as if there are still some surprises left in her angel.

The grin widens as she see the flare of heat in his eyes and the ragged breath he takes before he slowly releases her and steps back, his hands falling to his sides, clenched into fists. He looks damn hot, Meg decides as she studies him, with that raw energy rippling over his meat suit's skin, want written all over his face and the way he tenses every muscle in his body to stop himself from reaching for her again. Seeing him like this is sheer temptation and her hand twitches involuntarily as the slow burn of desire coils around her true form once more.

She should have known her reaction wouldn't escape him, should have known that when it comes to her, he's no longer above fighting dirty and breaking some of his own rules. Castiel moves quickly and before she has time to react, he has a hand behind her neck to keep her still as he presses his mouth to hers in a short, rough kiss. He pulls away and the small, way-too-pleased-with-himself smirk flitting over his features is the last thing she sees before he disappears from one moment to the other, leaving her to slump against the wall.

Meg stays there, letting the stone support her weight until she has her meat suit _and_ her true form back under control. She can still feel him, taste him, and damn it, she wants more. At least she's not alone if his reaction is any indication. Her lips turn up in a wicked smile. Oh, yeah, definitively not alone.

This is going to be so much fun.

\- END -


End file.
